Author’s Note (Story and Patreon Updates):

I will release one free extra chapter for both Manifest Fantasy and Summoning America if any of the following milestones are met:
- RoyalRoad: 3,000 followers on Manifest Fantasy (2158/3000)
- Scribblehub: 1,300 followers on Manifest Fantasy (141/1300)
- r/HFY: 600 concurrent readers (based on average upvotes per chapter) (42/600)
- Patreon: $1,000/month creator income milestone (676/1000)

If you haven't done so already, please create an account to follow and support the story!

READ AHEAD: Chapter 11 is now available for Tier 2 Manifest Fantasy Patrons and higher!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd

Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD

-- -- 

Armstrong Base, Grenden Plains

November 22, 2024

 

Henry yawned, rubbing his eyes. His stride towards the gate had that pre-dawn sluggishness, his gear feeling every bit as cumbersome as it looked. The morning air was cold, pronounced further by the chill of the chainmail against his neck and making him miss the warmth of his bed all the more. His eyes caught the first light of dawn, painting the MRAPs and his waiting team in a soft, surreal glow. He raised his hand to wave at them. “Yo!”

Ron, already by the MRAPs, shot back with a smirk, “Took ya long enough.” His breath fogged in the chill, mingling with the steam from his cup. The rest of the team, draped in their pre-mission silence, nodded or grunted in acknowledgment. Kelmithus, standing a little apart, was wrapped in a heavy cloak that seemed to ward off the chill more through magic than fabric. The aesthetic, however, contrasted heavily with a tactical vest, backpack, and helmet he wore in his hat’s stead – an Enhanced Combat Helmet straight from Chief Cole’s inventory. Beside him stood a younger man, wearing a similar cloak and also clad in the anachronistic American gear.

He introduced himself as Arran, a student of Kelmithus and a ‘prodigy’ according to the archmage himself. It seemed only he, Kelmithus, and Dr. Anderson were lively, though it made sense given the context of their upcoming mission.

 

Walking up to his MRAP, Henry gave it a once-over. Dr. Anderson was halfway inside, his bottom half sticking out as he shoved a satchel onto a seat. Yen and Hayes stood next to the other MRAP, giving their equipment some checks. “Alright,” Henry called out, “time to run the checklist. Yen, comms?”

 

“Crystal clear, Captain,” Yen replied, tapping his helmet. “Should be all good unless we run into another magic Chernobyl.”

Hayes chimed in without looking up from tying his laces, “Ammo’s stocked up. MRAPs’ been cleaned, too.”

 

Henry gave a nod. He had heard stories of weapons getting jammed due to debris. Better safe than sorry, he thought, appreciating the attention to detail. The last thing they needed was a firearm malfunction in the middle of an engagement with who knows what.

 

Kelmithus stepped forward. “The core?” he asked simply, eyeing the MRAP.

 

“Dr. Lamarr was a bit disappointed in having to wait a couple more days, but it’s in there, safe and sound,” Henry replied, nodding toward the vehicle.

 

Kelmithus nodded, eyes stuck to the MRAP for a moment longer before he stepped back.

 

“All set?” Henry asked. Met with nods, he led the way to a nearby tent. “Alright. Let’s review.”

 

The tent was rather utilitarian – barren save for the clutter of wires and monitors and basic furniture. An intelligence officer stood by a table in the center, clean-shaven and in his late thirties. The screen beside him showed a map of the Grenden Plains and the adjacent Grenden Forest, obtained via drone reconnaissance. A red circle highlighted the Area of Operation around the ruins.

 

The officer zoomed in on the target area and briefed them. “Based on recent recon, we’ve identified several heat signatures here,” he pointed to a thicket near the ruins. “IMINT confirms the presence of at least one Rillifane Stalker.”

 

He pulled up a grainy photograph of a panther-like creature with, shockingly, muscular limbs not unlike those of a gorilla. “This is all we’ve got in terms of visual confirmation. Thermal activity suggests more. Could be a nesting area.”

 

Henry studied the map. “Any updates on patrol patterns or numbers?”

 

The officer switched to a series of drone images. “We’ve been monitoring their movements. Not enough for a full pattern analysis, but MASINT has confirmed regular movement here and here,” he indicated two paths originating from a thermal hot spot and leading into the thicket.

 

Ryan leaned in, squinting at the screen. “These trails here, branching off? That’s their huntin’ ground. We plant ourselves along these lines, might just funnel ‘em straight to us.”

“It is worth noting,” Kelmithus added on, “that within the ranks of the Rillifanes, there invariably stands an Overseer – a pack leader. Engaging directly would ordinarily not be counsel I’d lightly offer.”

“Ordinarily?” Ron asked, amused. 

 

“Ordinarily,” Kelmithus confirmed. “The armaments at your disposal, however, reside well beyond the bounds of the ordinary.”

 

Henry smiled. He remembered a little bit about Rillifanes from his studies for the Adventurer Guild test – they hunted in packs, preferring to ambush and relying on magically enhanced strength to overpower and blitz their prey. The standard Tier 5 Prowlers didn’t seem like much of a threat – no more than the fenwyrms and hobgoblins they faced. The Tier 6 Stalkers were a bit more dangerous than their kin, but were really just slightly stronger and faster Prowlers. The Tier 8 Overseers, on the other hand, had very little information on them; most information on the Overseers were either obtained from studying its victims or from the remains of one after facing an even more menacing threat. If everything went as expected, their engagement would result in the latter.

 

Bombing their nest was much more preferable, but he couldn’t risk damage to the ruins. “So, we ambush one of their hunting parties and lure them out until all that’s left is the pack leader.”

“Divide and conquer,” Isaac affirmed. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

Kelmithus, on the other hand, didn’t seem so certain. “Rillifanes are intelligent. The clamor of battle, particularly with sounds unfamiliar, may not necessarily draw them out as anticipated; they possess the acumen to discern the opportune moment for engagement. They may prefer to prepare an ambush on their own territory.”

 

“If that’s the case, why not flush them out? Like what we did with the Minotaur Chieftain?” Ron asked.

 

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Could work,” he said, considering the plan. Then, recalling exactly how that went down, he smirked, “Why, you volunteering?”

 

“Hell nah,” Ron shook his head, clearly averse to the idea. Considering how menacing the Minotaur Chieftain looked, Henry understood why. He would’ve felt the same.

 

Still, if they proceeded with the plan… “Hey, someone’s gotta do it,” Isaac shrugged.

 

“If I may,” Kelmithus interjected, “What did you do during your quest?”

 

Henry searched himself for a smoke grenade, showing it to Kelmithus. He briefly recounted their little adventure, “We threw one of these inside the Chieftain’s den. Pulling the pin here ignites a timed fuse. Once the fuse goes off, this grenade releases a cloud of smoke within a ten-meter radius, more or less. It’s harmless, but the monsters here don’t know that.”

 

Ryan pointed back toward his and Isaac’s MRAP, “We’ve got us some CS gas on standby, in case this here smoke ain’t cuttin’ it.”

“CS gas?” Arran asked.

 

Ryan scratched his chin as he searched for terms he and Kelmithus might understand. “Like a poison cloud,” Ryan briefly explained. “Burns the lungs.”

Henry nodded, a plan already forming in his mind. “Alright, I’ve got something; listen up, Alpha Team. Our objective is clear: neutralize the Rillifane nest blocking our access to the ruins. Based on available intel and Hayes’ analysis, we’re leveraging the Rillifane hunting paths for an ambush. Here’s how we’re gonna execute.”

 

He pointed to the map, its infrared overlays marking the dense forest terrain and the paths less obscured by foliage. “We’ll dismount at the road here, then approach the paths on foot. Yen, Hayes, you’re rigging IR tripwires here and here,” he said, marking one point along each path. “These will serve as our early warning. We need a tight perimeter; any breach and we lose the element of surprise.”

 

Henry shifted focus, “Owens, Doc, Archmage, Arran, you’re with me on the main assault line. While Yen and Hayes are working, we’ll prepare ourselves for the engagement. We initiate once we have a confirmed lock on Rillifane movement. We’ll position ourselves equidistant from both paths here to minimize response time and spread out to maintain overlapping fields of fire. No gaps in our perimeter.” He marked a spot right in the middle of both paths, south of the nest and close to where they diverged.

 

“After we engage the hunting party,” he continued, "we need to assess the situation. Yen, you’ll send a drone over to the nest. We’ll need real-time intel on how the rest of the pack reacts to our strike.”

 

He laid out the contingencies, “If the engagement draws the rest of the Rillifanes out, we’ll exploit that. We’ll maintain our positions and have them come to us. But, if the main pack doesn’t take the bait, we’ve got plan B.”

 

“The tear gas,” Ron guessed.

 

Henry nodded. “Yup. We’ll regroup, grab the MRAPs, and bring them toward the nest about a hundred meters out.”

“They’ll know we’re coming at that point,” Arran commented, voice sounding a bit uncertain.

 

Ryan cleared his throat, “That’s what we’re countin’ on. We ain’t ambushing them. We’re sieging them.”

 

Henry jabbed a thumb behind him, referring to the vehicles outside. “We’ll deploy the CS gas and draw them into our big guns.”

 

Dr. Anderson crossed his arms, like he was unconvinced by the plan. “It was a bit windy earlier. Could present a hazard…”

 

It was a real concern, one Henry surprisingly hadn’t realized until now. He considered employing flashbangs, which could probably do the trick just as well. Before he could even propose an alternative solution, Kelmithus stepped in. 

 

“Fear not the winds,” he offered. “With but a weave of the Aether, I shall ensure the gas is directed precisely towards their nest, sparing us from its effects.”

 

That worked too. Henry gave him a nod. “We’ll let the Archmage handle that. Rules of Engagement are simple: protect our VIPs, eliminate the threat. No engagement outside our ambush zone. If we encounter civilians, which I heavily doubt, we extract and reassess. Any deviation from the expected, we adapt on the fly. Questions?”

 

A sea of shaking heads answered for him. “Alright,” Henry continued, “We’re not just hunters today; we’re also the bait. Let’s make sure it’s the Rillifanes that get caught. Let’s move out.”

 

After the briefing, Henry led the team outside. “Archmage, Arran, you’re with me and Ron,” he gestured towards the first MRAP.

 

“Please, we’ve known each other long enough. Kel would do just fine,” Kelmithus said.

 

Henry smiled, patting the man on his shoulder as he walked toward the MRAP. While Kelmithus instructed his student on how the metal carriage worked, Henry turned to Dr. Anderson. “Doc, you’re with Isaac and Ryan.”

 

Dr. Anderson’s face briefly showed a flicker of disappointment, missing the chance to continue his conversation with the Sonarans. He would’ve put them together, but there simply wasn’t enough space in the MRAPs. It was a slight inconvenience, but he’d live. Hopefully. After all, there was much more to look forward to once they arrived.

 

As they divided into their assigned vehicles, the low growl of engines filled the air. Henry, riding shotgun, caught Arran’s wide-eyed wonder, looking around at the interior like it was some sort of alien enigma. Well, from Arran’s perspective, they basically were aliens – human ones that didn’t look any different from himself, sure, but from a different planet nonetheless.

Turning to Kelmithus, who had long grown accustomed – more or less – to their technology, Henry broke the silence. “Kel, you ever dealt with Rillifanes before?”

 

Kelmithus leaned back slightly, considering Henry’s question. “Rillifanes? Yes, I have encountered their kind. Not only are they shrewd as predators, but ‘tis their pelt that holds much allure. Imbued with natural concealment, many a craftsman seeks it for its properties.”

 

Henry absorbed this. It sounded a lot like a creature Kelmithus had mentioned before. “Lurkers?”

 

Kelmithus shook his head. “Nay, not Lurkers, though akin they may seem. Academia theorizes shared lineage, yet empirical evidence, owing to their elusive nature, proves elusive itself.”

 

Arran added, “Master, it seems to me, if I may, that Rillifanes lean more on nature’s guise than the vanishing that Lurkers are capable of. Such a trait surely poses little trouble to any adventurer with a good eye, does it not?”

 

“Precisely so,” Kelmithus affirmed. “The Rillifane, with its reliance upon the gifts of nature rather than arcane invisibility, oft presents but a trifling puzzle to those with keen sight. Now, Vorikhas, on the other hand, are creatures of a different mettle, demanding vigilance and strength of arm.”

 

Intrigued, Ron turned his head back. “Vorikhas?”

 

Kelmithus’ gaze became distant as he gave a nod, like he was recalling a personal encounter. “Vorikhas are titans of the wild, truly meriting the dread that accompanies a Tier 8 designation. Their hide is impervious to the steel and shafts of common arms, as though each scale were wrought from the purest Adamantium. And the claws, oh how they rend through granite as easily as one might cleave the air.”

 

He paused, voice dropping to a low tone. “But the heart of their dread lies not in their brawn. Nay, they can be overpowered by a Minotaur Chieftain. However, they possess one thing that a Minotaur Chieftain does not: the ability to tap into the Aether. Their primal magic, though lacking a mage’s finesse, presents a grave challenge when combined with their physical might.”

 

“And their scales, Master, they’re more than just armor, right?” Arran asked.

 

“Aye, Arran,” Kelmithus affirmed. “Each scale is a marvel, ensorcelled to disrupt and absorb magic as if they were made of voidstone. Spells cast directly upon them find their potency waning, diminishing upon proximity. Thus, the wise combatant would resort to employing magic indirectly – propelling a projectile. They may also choose to forego the use of the Aether entirely, relying on traps to ensnare the beast or brute force to prevail.”

 

He could see why the Vorikha was such an issue. Anything the local Sonarans could muster basically didn’t work, despite the creature itself being weaker than a Minotaur Chieftain. Not that it would matter in the face of hot lead traveling faster than sound. If anything the prospect of a human as strong as a Minotaur Chieftain and beating the crap out of a Vorikha was somehow more frightening than the description of the Vorikha itself. But there was something that didn’t sit right with Henry. “If they are covered in scales that, like, disrupt magic, how do they cast it?” 

 

Kelmithus hinted at the answer, speaking like how a professor would guide a student. “Consider, if you will, the paradox of their nature: covered almost entirely in scales that disrupt magic, yet able to use magic with a roar.”

 

“Their mouths?” Ron guessed.

 

“Indeed, the maw, devoid of the ensorcelled scales, holds the key. More precisely, the fangs,” Kelmithus answered. “As the scales are coveted for their fortitude and their capacity to thwart magic, the teeth, in contrast, are esteemed for their antithetical properties. When a Vorikha weaves a spell, it employs the sole unshielded vessel – its maw. This is the root of their infamous roars; not merely calls of the wild, but the conduits of their magic.”

 

“Sounds like something Dr. Perdue would be interested in,” Ron remarked, half-joking yet aware of the value these materials held.

 

Kelmithus nodded. His smile grew enthusiastic, like he went beyond understanding the implication and was instead excited for it to happen. “Indeed, the study of Vorikha materials could lead to remarkable advancements. Our own forays, modest though they be, have resulted in leaps in the field of Aether Fundamentals. ’Tis a tantalizing thought, what more mysteries your kin might unveil.”

 

Henry could guess why Kelmithus seemed enthusiastic. “Yeah? You know, I heard that the talks are almost over, and that a certain agreement was reached on the topic of knowledge exchange…”

 

“Indeed, Captain,” the archmage responded. “Duke Vancor imparted such tidings unto me. After a nomination from the Duke, the High Council has ratified my role as the principal liaison for our collaborative research, pending the conclusion of our diplomatic parleys.”

 

Henry raised an eyebrow. Kelmithus working alongside Dr. Lamarr or Dr. Perdue would be quite the sight. It wasn’t the reverse-engineering of alien tech that he had imagined would occur after stepping through the portal, but he was all for it nonetheless. “That’s great news, Kel. Looking forward to seeing more of you at the base then.”

 

As they mulled over the exciting prospects of this collaborative effort, Ron’s voice cut through from the driver’s seat. “We’re here, folks.”

 

The MRAPs rumbled to a stop. Everyone quickly disembarked, grabbing supplies from the vehicles as they stepped outside onto the untainted air of the Grenden Forest.

 

Ryan seemed the most hyped up, inhaling deeply with a pleasant look on his face. “Y’all catchin’ that scent?”

 

Isaac stepped out of the other MRAP, entertaining Ryan’s question while he secured his MRAP. “Uh… the smell of leaves and animal shit?”

 

Ryan shook his head, chuckling. “Well, you ain’t wrong. But it’s fresh fuckin’ air. Y’know the best thing about this place? No damn microplastics.”

 

“Real,” Ron commented as he covered up his MRAP with foliage before locking it.

 

Henry nodded along, as did Dr. Anderson, amidst a confused Arran and Kelmithus.

 

“My-crow-plas-tics?” Kelmithus asked. “Some sort of poison, I presume?”

 

“Damn straight,” Ryan said. “But I reckon we ain’t gonna find none of that trouble here on Gaerra, God willing.”

 

“Hopefully,” Henry agreed, patting Ryan on the shoulder. “You guys ready?” he asked, gaze flicking between his colleagues.

 

Isaac nodded. “Got the IR tripwires right here,” he said, holding up his backpack. He delved back in, this time pulling out a compact quadrotor drone. “And this will help us navigate,” he added, unfolding it and sending it up. The drone hummed to life, its rotors whispering as it ascended through the dense canopy, disappearing from sight.

 

Henry watched as Isaac tapped on his wrist device, syncing the drone’s aerial feed with their HUDs. A top-down view of their immediate surroundings materialized on their displays, the dense forest suddenly less daunting with this bird’s-eye perspective. Blue arrows indicated each member of their team, including Kelmithus and Arran.

 

Ryan took point, leading the team into the forest. They walked northwest, toward the ruins. According to IMINT and Ryan’s insight, the hunting trails were somewhere in between the road and the ruins, intersecting with a small creek. It seemed straightforward enough on the monitor back at the base, but now that he was on the ground, every part of the forest looked the same.

 

After a few minutes of moving toward the ruins, Ryan knelt down, analyzing a faint impression on the ground. “Look here. These depressions ain’t nothin’ remarkable, but they’re a sign of passage. Ain’t a clear path, but it’s a start.” 

 

As they advanced, Ryan pointed out other signs: broken twigs snapped at a consistent height, suggesting movement at a particular level. The direction of disturbed foliage also indicated a general direction of travel, which led toward the ruins. “Ain’t never seen a Rillifane before, but they’ve gotta be just like any other animal.”

 

The team marked each significant sign with a digital tag through their HUDs, creating a virtual breadcrumb trail back to their starting point. They named each marker with simple but memorable nicknames like ‘ball vine’ for a vine bunched up in a peculiar way, and ‘moss tree’ for a tree trunk heavily laden with moss on one side. Markers like the latter even indicated the prevalent direction of moisture, and possibly even the general direction of the Rillifanes’ movement.

 

After following the signs for a good distance, they noticed an increase in the signs’ frequency and clarity. The compressed soil turned into more defined footprints and the paths of disturbed vegetation became more pronounced. Finally, Ryan halted, signaling the team to a stop. Ahead, the signs coalesced into a discernible trail. The earth was worn down by frequent passage and the vegetation on either side was pushed back, revealing a clearer path through the dense underbrush. “This is it,” Ryan confirmed, “and the other trail is right over there by that creek,” he pointed toward the direction of running water.

 

“Good work, Hayes,” Henry said before turning to address the rest of the team, “Let’s get started.”

 

Isaac unpacked the IR tripwires, setting them up at strategic points along the paths. “Placing marker on north trail, 70 meters out,” he communicated. He moved on, setting another. “Marker on west trail, 40 meters. No obstructions.”

 

While Ryan and Isaac worked on setting up the tripwires, Henry directed everyone else to a spot in between the paths. “Let’s clear out the vegetation for clear lines of sight,” he ordered.

 

As they worked, Kelmithus aimed his staff at the underbrush. Without a word, a magic circle materialized at the tip of the staff, causing vines and leaves to wilt. Clearing out the vegetation with a combination of machetes and magic, they created clear lanes leading to the hunting paths. They then positioned themselves around the paths, settling into their hiding spots.

 

They laid prone for minutes that stretched forever until finally, Isaac’s voice came through. “Contact on the north trail. Movement detected, eight targets, steady pace.”

 

“Copy,” Henry whispered, swiveling around to face the northern trail. “Hold fire. Let them enter the kill zone.”

 

The Rillifanes approached, their figures now visible through the light filtering in from the canopy above. They blended in with the background, their dark fur adjusting hue and tone to match the greenery around them. They were also much larger than he expected. He had thought they were around the size of a panther but no, they were closer to small elephants than panthers. Despite their size, they made little noise as they walked along the path, limp goblins and fenwyrm spawn clenched in their jaws.

 

Kelmithus placed his staff into the soft earth, the bottom sinking without a sound. He squinted at the distance, eyes focused on the ground beneath the Rillifanes while channeling mana into the central gem atop his staff. The gem glowed in response, echoing his intent despite no words being said. Beside him, Arran chanted softly, murmuring something brief and poetic about the goddess of the earth, giving form to the magic as his staff too found its place in the ground. Together, they manipulated the terrain, sabotaging the stable path and creating a muddy morass interspersed with spikes that caught the creatures off-guard. 

 

As soon as the Rillifanes began to realize their predicament, Henry knew it was time. They were disoriented, their attention diverted – the perfect moment for an ambush. “Engage,” he said sharply into the comms.

 

Henry’s finger tensed around the trigger, the M250’s recoil jarring against his shoulder, alleviated slightly by the bipod. He aimed for a Rillifane struggling in the mud, a smaller one in the rear of the hunting party. The first shots hit a forelimb, the creature’s roar muffled by the suppressor. It tumbled, further ensnared by the mud and spikes as its limb collapsed, unable to support its weight. A subsequent burst from Ron to his side shredded the incapacitated Rillifane’s upper torso and head, putting it down for good.

 

Simultaneously, Ryan fired his Barrett M107A1. The high-caliber shot boomed, more felt than heard. The resulting impact turned his target’s head into pulverized jelly – not exactly a clean shot to brag home about, but certainly a fun upgrade over the Remington Model 700s and Nosler 21s used by his buddies back home.

 

Henry didn’t pause. He retargeted, aiming for another trapped Rillifane. A burst to its hind legs sent it crashing, its thrashing only burying it deeper. Final shots to the torso and head ensured it wouldn’t rise.

 

The ground acted like quicksand: the more they struggled, the deeper they sank. Their desperate struggles served only to exacerbate their situation, making them more vulnerable to the spikes and incoming gunfire.

 

The other members of Alpha Team responded with their own lethality, each Rillifane falling with little more than a whisper of resistance. It mimicked the ease of target practice, sans the paper targets. It was effortless. Too effortless. 

 

As the last of the grotesque forms slumped into the mire, Henry confirmed what their eyes registered. “All threats neutralized.”

 

“Copy,” Isaac said. “Switching to overhead, sweeping.” He checked the feed from the quadrotor hovering above them. “No additional movers. Zone’s cold.”

 

“They still at the nest?” Ron asked.

 

Isaac sent the drone toward the ruins, scanning for the nest. The hues on his tablet melted into oranges and blues as he switched to infrared. “Affirmative,” he said, confirming Ron’s guess.

 

It was a bit of a shame that the other Rillifanes weren’t lured out by their recent engagement, but at least they’d have the MRAPs’ firepower available for this next engagement. Henry nodded. “Alright. We retrograde to the MRAPs and ingress via the road. Approach with caution, maintain dispersion.”

 

As they walked back to the road, Isaac kept the drone’s camera fixed on the ruins. “Visuals are clear. No additional movement detected around the ruins.”

 

Using the markers they had left behind, they retraced their steps quickly. Within a few minutes, the MRAPs came into view. Henry turned to Ron. “Owens, lead us out. Yen, continuous feed, call out any shifts.

 

Ron took point and got into the driver's seat of their MRAP. “Let’s roll out steady.”

 

The drive to the ruins was winding, but still faster compared to a trudge straight through the forest. Whatever runes maintained the compacted 4-lane road seemed to still be functioning, keeping the road itself in good condition despite the overgrowth sprawling across it. He could almost imagine the traffic that once used this path, now reclaimed by nature.

 

As they neared the ruins, Henry’s eyes scanned the treeline. Though the Rillifanes were confirmed to be in their nest, there was no telling what other dangers might be lurking out there. He keyed his mic, “Yen, status on aerial?”

 

“Drone’s showing clear,” Isaac responded. “No movement yet.”

 

The MRAPs halted a safe distance from the ruins, the engines idling. “Alright, let’s get to work,” Henry said, disembarking. He grabbed some CS canisters while Ron remained inside, handling the Remote Weapon System. Meanwhile, Kelmithus and Arran prepared their magic, evident by the increase in wind speed around them and the fluttering of leaves.

 

Taking a glance at the ruins, it looked much more imposing than what he had seen from the drone feed. The entrance itself seemed to be built into a rock formation, reminding him of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. The heavy iron doors were cracked open and riddled with signs of battle and deterioration from the ages – scorch marks, bent metal, and rust. That must be where the Rillifane nest was.

 

Henry took a position that gave him a clear line of sight to the nest’s entrance. He set up his M250, and then prepared the grenade launcher on his M7. With a nod to Kelmithus, he fired the CS gas canister, watching as it arced beyond the doors. The canister clattered on the floor and rolled deeper inside before erupting, releasing a cloud of tear gas.

 

Kelmithus immediately intensified his spell. The wind swirled around them, now a focused gale that funneled gas directly into the nest. The leaves and branches around them rustled violently in the artificially amplified wind before settling as Kelmithus contained the spell to the entrance. Meanwhile, Arran prepared his earth magic – the same grasping mud that they had employed in the initial ambush.

 

The gas filled the nest, the sounds of confusion and distress emanating within. The Rillifanes wheezed, stumbling out of the entrance. 

 

“Engage with caution,” Henry ordered, sighting down his LMG. As the first Rillifane emerged, he opened fire and dropped it instantly. 

 

The disoriented Rillifanes were easy targets, bogged down by the gas and clumped up into a perfect chokepoint. The .50 cals on the MRAPs were much more effective than their guns, tearing through the Rillifanes with complete ease. If their engagement earlier was too effortless, then this was… like shooting fish in a barrel. The only downside, of course, was the quality of their kills. It would be much harder to salvage materials from the downed Rillifanes, but would it really matter in the face of the untold treasures inside the ruins? 

 

As the initial wave of Rillifanes were cleared out, the engagement took a sudden turn with the emergence of the Rillifane Overseer. It stood above its slain kin, eyes reddened and more enraged than affected by the tear gas. The size of the beast itself was staggering, easily dwarfing that of an elephant. Unlike the other Rillifanes, this one stood upright, looking like it could take on a T-rex – and win.

 

The .50 cal and small arms fire seemed to merely scratch its thick, matted fur, causing little more than superficial damage. It snarled at them, its nostrils pushing aside the gas. Without so much as a warning, it charged at them.

 

The gunfire from Ron’s MRAP stopped, instead replaced with thumps from the Mk 19 Grenade launcher. The first round hit, rocking the Overseer with a concussive blast and tearing a chunk of dark fur from the creature like it was nothing, exposing the skin beneath. But that was just it – it was only the fur. Each subsequent blast resulted in similar superficial damage, with the grenades scorching and charring the exposed skin but failing to penetrate deeper. It staggered, clearly affected, but far from down. 

 

Seeing the beast just shake off the blasts, barely flinching as its hide got blasted away to reveal that charred but unyielding hide… it was a cold splash of reality. Their standard ordnance wasn’t as effective as they’d hoped. They had to pull out something bigger. “Hayes, use the TOW!” Henry ordered.

 

Ryan acknowledged the command. The turret swiveled smoothly as Ryan aimed. The launch was instantaneous, a sharp hiss preceding the missile’s rapid departure. It carved a straight path toward the target, the propulsion’s glare a brief comet in the dim. The impact was immediate and intense. The missile’s shaped charge was designed to penetrate and detonate within; there was no way this creature was surviving a weapon meant for over 2 feet of steel.

 

The beast bore the full brunt of the blast, the shockwave rippling through the surrounding area. Debris and dust spiraled into the air as the echo of the explosion reverberated through the forest.

 

Henry, instinctively shielding his eyes from the intense light of the explosion, caught glimpses of the Overseer’s demise through narrowed lids. The Overseer had a gaping hole in its body, limbs barely hanging onto the compromised structure. Behind, a spray of viscera spread out in a cone-like formation, painting everything behind the Overseer in a dark red.

 

“Damn,” Ryan said, sounding more amused than shocked. 

 

Ron whistled, “That’s a helluva way to go out.”

 

It certainly was. At least there was something to salvage. “Yen, status?”

 

“Area’s clear, Captain. No additional threats detected,” he responded.

 

Henry nodded. Now all they needed to do was clear out the mess and find a way inside. “Copy. Send the sitrep to base. Request a collection team for this zone. In the meantime, we’ll secure the perimeter and find our entry point.”

 

The team spread out. The obvious first choice was the front gate, where the nest was. The light seeping in barely lit up the place, so Henry turned on his flashlight. He swept the nest alongside Ryan, Dr. Anderson, and Arran. Aside from a pungent odor, there were no threats within. “Clear,” Henry announced.

 

The first thing he noticed was a secondary set of iron doors, similar to the one outside. It was slightly rusted, but it much better condition compared to the other barrier. The ceiling overhead arched down, forming a tunnel not unlike the one from the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Walking up to the barrier, he gave it a slight push. “Completely sealed,” he reported. “We’ll need to find another way in.”

 

Ron chimed in with his own report, “Got a secondary entrance outside, smaller, for pedestrians. Kel cleared out the rocks blocking it, but…”

 

“The door, alas, has not withstood the ravages of the elements. Its runes are now lost to erosion, rendering it impassable save from the inside” Kelmithus continued. Then, as if anticipating the next question, he explained further, “With little remaining of the original rune, I cannot repair or reproduce it.”

 

“Copy,” Henry said. With both of the main entrances basically impossible to breach, they would have to report back to base and bring in some heavier tools for excavation.

 

As soon as he began to contact Armstrong Base though, Ryan’s voice cut in. “Got somethin’ over here. Owens, Yen, Kelmithus,” he called out to his comrades outside.

 

Henry turned to face Ryan, spotting his silhouette against a wall. He swept his arms, clearing what looked like vines from the wall. As he got closer, he realized what he had found – a window. 

 

He followed Ryan to the obscured window and helped him. As they cleared the last of the vines, the reinforced glass came into view, its surface marred by the passage of time and completely delaminated. It was almost opaque – difficult to see inside, but he could make out what looked like a desk and chair. A security checkpoint, he mused, given the room’s position relative to the tunnel and gates. 

 

Henry tapped on it with the butt of his gun, expecting it to be brittle. His gun bounced back slightly as the glass resisted, remarkably sturdy despite what he would have expected from thousands of years of deterioration. “Looks like bulletproof glass,” he said.

 

Isaac and Ron approached, examining the window closely. Isaac turned to Ron, “Got any breaching charges in the MRAP?”

 

Ron nodded, already heading back to the vehicle. Moments later, he returned with a thermobaric strip charge, specifically engineered to breach defenses made of materials with high tensile resistance. “This should do it without bringing the whole wall down,” he commented, setting the charge carefully against the glass.

 

“Back outside, by the doors,” Henry directed, knowing the heavy iron would provide ample protection from the blast. They retraced their steps, positioning themselves behind the massive doors.

 

Ron double-checked the charge placement before retreating to join the others. He pulled out the detonator before whispering a final reminder into his mic, “Check your angles.” 

 

The team acknowledged, each member opening their mouth and covering an ear with one hand, the other readying their weapon. With a nod to confirm readiness, Ron declared, “Breaching.” 

 

He pressed the detonator. The charge detonated with a muffled thump, more a release of intense pressure than a fiery explosion. The bulletproof glass bowed inward under the force, the layers suffering delamination and spider-webbing around the charge’s focal point before succumbing to the engineered assault. As the dust settled, a clear entry point was revealed.

 

The glass’ integrity was compromised enough to allow entry but not shattered completely, reducing the risk from sharp fragments. Ron gestured forward, Alpha Team preparing to breach the room alongside him. 

 

Peering through the newly created opening, Henry could see the room clearly. It was small, furnished only with a chair, desk, and some cabinets. There was a singular entrance aside from the one they had just created: an interior security door, with ancient runes etched onto the panel itself. 

 

The desk contained mechanical controls, an array of buttons and switches that looked like they once commanded the structure’s barriers. It was a long shot, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. Henry reached in through the opening and pressed a few buttons experimentally, but there was no response – a clear sign there was no power running through them. 

 

“Looks like we’re not getting any help from the controls,” Henry observed. He then climbed over to the other side, shifting his attention to the cabinets. He pulled them open one by one and inspected their contents. They were mostly empty, but in one, he found a rusty key and a pile of ashes that probably used to be documents.

 

Meanwhile, Kelmithus had approached the interior door, his focus on the runes. “These are still intact,” he murmured. After a thorough examination of the runes, he placed his hand on them and applied some mana. The runes glowed in response – a promising sign that beckoned him to push it, but the door didn’t budge. He stepped back, a slight frown creasing his brow.

 

“Found this a few seconds ago,” Henry said, holding up the key he had found. “Maybe this will work.”

 

Kelmithus nodded and stepped aside, making room for Henry. He fit the key into the lock. It slid in perfectly. However, as he turned it, the key resisted, hindered by the decay that clung to it. Ultimately, it jammed, refusing to turn further. He pulled the key out, trying several more times to no avail. “Damn.”

 

“If I may,” Kelmithus offered, holding his hand out.

 

Henry gave him the key. Maybe it needed magic to open the door?

 

Kelmithus inspected the key closely, fingers running over the key’s biting. A faint glow emanated from the metal as he did so. “Fascinating,” he murmured, realization dawning upon him. “The biting’s edges are imbued with mana, albeit in disparate measures. ‘Tis the mana, I deduce, that once flowed into the lock’s pins.”

Ryan eyed the key. “So, you’re tellin’ me this thing’s a no-go without some of that magic touch?”

 

“To an extent, yes,” Kelmithus explained. “Ordinarily, the key need not any input of mana. Alas, the relentless march of time has dulled the enchantment’s vigor, so I must manually unlock it.”

 

Henry shared a look of curiosity with Ron as Kelmithus set to work. He inserted the key all the way, then held his hand out to Arran, who provided him with a thin wand. Using the wand, he channeled a flow of blue energy from the tip. A stream of mana flowed into the tiny gap in the keyhole. Kelmithus placed his ears close to the lock, listening for signs of success. 

 

The first pin clicked, evident by a smile that stretched across the archmage’s face. After a minute of experimentation, the lock finally yielded and Kelmithus turned the key with a grin. The door swung open to reveal a hallway ahead, illuminated by dim emergency lights. He stepped back, a hint of pride in his eyes.

 

Henry raised an eyebrow. It seemed the archmage had some tricks up his sleeve. “Where’d you learn all that?”

 

Kelmithus answered, “In years past, many a door stood in my way, each urging a… diverse set of skills. An adventurer’s life, it was, for a score of years.”

 

Right; Kelmithus wasn’t always a scholarly magic professor and researcher. Henry nodded and clapped him on the back. “Nice work, Kel. Now, let’s see how well those skills paid off,” he said, leading the way into the Baranthurian facility.